Page 85 of Bitter Spirits

Carter’s attention flicked to Isa, and horrified understanding dawned. He shoved Cora back, his gaze bouncing from Isa to Cora and back. “No. What the fuck? This isn’t happening. I can’t be—” His mouth snapped shut as if to trap the word.

“Dead?” Isa finished for him. “Afraid so.” She hitched her chin to Cora. “And you can thank her.”

“You’re welcome,” Cora said with an infuriating casualness.

He lunged for her, but she winked out, only to reappear a few feet away. When he tried again, Isa locked his spirit in place. “Carter, stop.”

His spirit stood there, trapped in the Reaper’s hold. “Send me back.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

Cora moved into Carter, leaving only inches between them. She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. “I need you.”

Carter stared down at her. “What happened to you?”

“Angel killed me,” she said. Carter jerked against her, but Cora held tight. “That’s why I need you. We have to make him pay.”

She continued to croon to him, and he shook his head.

The inky tendrils of Isa’s power curled slowly around the couple, binding them together. Isa started to protest, only to have Cora’s voice invade her mind in a feral hiss. “You made a vow, Reaper.”

I asked you for a distraction, Isa told her. The words formed in her mind, her voice silenced.

“He’s distracted!” Cora snapped. “But I need his power to get Angel.” She rose and covered Carter’s mouth with hers in an obscene kiss.

Isa’s gut lurched as realization dawned. Her vow meant she had to physically host Cora until she garnered full payment from Angel. And that vow allowed no wiggle room, so any and every power available to her was also accessible to Cora for the duration. Reapers could drain a soul and use that energy to boost their own. And now Cora was draining Carter for her own use. Isa could only stand as witness.

The part of her that was Isa slid deeper away, needing to escape the wash of self-recrimination. The Reaper part of her continued to observe with a detached curiosity. It didn’t take Cora long to drain Carter to dregs that faded into nothing.

Cora, bloated with power, laughed and stepped back into the world, dragging the Reaper with her.

Chapter 26

Locke

The world spun and settled into recognizable lines as Locke grimly forced the radiating pain aside to be dealt with later. The shattered picnic table tilted drunkenly, and as his mind started to clear, he searched out Angel’s magic, but it was gone. As was the debilitating fear that had left him so exposed. Alternating waves of heat and chills washed over him as his senses came back online. He was on his hands and knees, grit scraping his palms as they pressed into the heat-warmed pavers. His tongue was coated with the bitter-copper taste of blood. He managed to spit his mouth clear, and the crimson smear marred the paver. His ears rang with a high-pitched hum. He used the table to get to his feet as he wiped at whatever was trickling into his eyes. When he dropped his hand, blood and sweat stained the back of it. He wiped it on his pants and looked around.

The once-neat yard looked like a tornado had torn through it, leaving behind broken furniture, overturned coals, and a trail of shattered pottery and glass. The air was heavy with power as flashes of olive green and onyx black clashed in silent fury. None of that compared to what stood a few feet away and left him wondering if he had hit his head earlier: three black-eyed Isas facing down one battered Angel.

What the hell is going on?

A flick of power whipped past Angel, who managed to evade it by diving to the side, and headed toward Locke. His magic flared, the air tightening around him, as he threw himself to the side and rolled over the broken picnic table. When he got to his feet, he saw that Angel had wrapped his magic around the Isa in the middle, the dull-green tendrils spearing her torso and limbs. Power swelled, the obscene strands pulling her off her feet until she hung in midair, her spine curved in a painful arc. The Isa to the left watched Angel with an avid disturbing hunger, something clutched in her hand, half hidden by her thigh, and stalked him with uncanny grace. The Isa to the right held a wrought iron poker and favored her right side, ribbons of deepest black dancing around her as she fended off Angel’s magic. She missed one then another as they latched on, sinking deep. Her eyes widened, her face flinched, and her movements became jerky, the shadowed ribbons flickering like a faulty bulb.

That was his Isa. Locke reached for his second blade only to come up empty. He scanned the ground and spotted a large glass shard. Wrapping his palm in a thick layer of air, he grabbed it and, keeping it low, rushed Angel from behind.

“No!” The furious cry came from his left.

An invisible force shoved him aside, sending him crashing back into the broken table. He lost his hold on the glass shard and barely managed to avoid impaling himself on a thick splinter.

Warned by the cry, Angel half turned toward the last Isa, who lunged forward, wrapped her arm around his neck, and pulled him into her. The muffled silence fractured, and the storm of dull green winked out, as did the other two Isas. Sounds rushed back in—harsh breathing, the revving of an approaching engine, and the faint roar of an overhead jet. In the backyard, Isa and Angel stood in a strange embrace. A cruel smile curved Isa’s lips as Angel’s hands went to his stomach.

When his gaze rose to hers, he was frowning. “Chiquita?”

Isa leaned in, and Angel grunted in pain. “It’s payback, asshole.” She stepped back, and in her hand was a bloodied shard of thick pottery. “And it’s Cora, not chiquita.”

Angel swayed as the crimson stain grew.

“Gods dammit.” Locke rushed to catch the Harvester before he hit the ground and barely caught him in time. He lowered Angel slowly, noting the sickly sheen of his light-brown complexion. He put pressure on the gut wound, ignoring Angel’s pained grimace. “Hold on, Herrera.” Angel tried to push him away physically and magically but was weakened on both fronts.